Page 40 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

THIRTY-ONE

When morning came, Mary didn’t utter a word of reproach.

What was the point? It wasn’t as if John would be repentant.

He was in good spirits, enjoying his breakfast and talking to Simon about his plans for the day.

Neither man paid much attention to her or Travesty, who went about her business with her usual efficiency.

Mary poured Simon more ale and watched him from beneath hooded lids.

Simon accepted the ale and looked up to nod his thanks.

As expected, his gaze slid to her bosom, taking in the sun-kissed flesh above the neckline of her chemise.

John never looked at her bosom. As she turned away from the men, Mary wondered if John might be coercing Simon.

Simon was John’s to command until his indenture contract was up, and they had been on their own for a time, before Travesty joined them. Could this be all John’s doing?

Mary bid the men a good day as they rose from the table and headed for the door. She was glad to see the back of them. She tore off the bedlinens and filled her basket. “I’m going to the creek,” she told Travesty.

“I’ve never seen anyone spend so much time laundering,” Travesty muttered but nodded and went back to what she was doing.

Mary walked to the creek and tied a scrap of fabric to one of the lower branches of the great oak before turning her attention to the linens.

She hoped Walker would come, but it wasn’t likely.

Not this soon. She stripped off her clothes and took a dip in the creek to cool her burning flesh before reluctantly returning to the cabin to begin her other chores.

The despair of last night was gone, replaced by a steely determination to seize whatever joy she could from her life in this dreary colony.

Unlike Simon and Travesty, she wouldn’t be set free at the end of her indenture.

She was bound to John for life, and the prospect of living that life filled her with dread that gnawed at her insides and hollowed her heart until it felt like an empty shell, completely incapable of feeling anything other than burning rage.

Mary went back to the creek several times over the next two weeks, but Walker was never there.

The strip of fabric hung limply on the branch, its frayed edges as ragged as Mary’s patience.

She felt more despondent with every passing day, certain she would spend the rest of her days in this remote cabin with no one to talk to, and not even a child to love.

She’d been married to John for nearly three months now, but there was no sign of a child growing in her womb.

She bled regularly, and every time she got her courses, she was torn between relief and disappointment.

The colony was a strange place, the settlement soulless without children or domestic animals.

It was the home of tired, frustrated, rugged men, who’d lost whatever veneer of civility they’d once had after years of hard work and no female company.

Even the ruling class, which included the governor, the secretary, the marshal, and the reverend, had acquired something feral in this wild land.

The governor could be seen striding about in nothing but his shirt and breeches, and the marshal was always on edge, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings for signs of trouble.

It would take no more than a spark of hostility to ignite a war in this dung heap of a colony.

No wonder the Virginia Company was sending out women.

The women were the water to the flame, coming to douse the passions that were running high and were desperate to be satisfied.

When the next dozen brides arrived, the men stood about as the ship docked, tense and grim-faced, terrified that the woman assigned to them might have died during the crossing.

It happened often enough. Mary, who happened to be in Jamestown for Sunday service, watched, enthralled, as the tired, dirty women came trudging into the settlement, led by a well-dressed man.

He didn’t appear to be the quartermaster and carried a curious wooden case that had many tiny drawers which were held shut by lengths of rope that encircled the polished wood .

Governor Yeardley came forward and shook the man’s hand.

“Glad to have you with us, Doctor. We’re a hardy bunch, we’ve had to be, but having a physician among us is a step toward a civilized society and not just a settlement carved out of the wilderness.

Secretary Hunt has prepared a surgery for you. I hope you’ll find it to your liking.”

“Thank you, Governor. I’m sure it will be most satisfactory.”

The doctor was not yet thirty, in Mary’s estimation.

He had dark hair, and eyes so light, they reminded her of a sheet of ice reflecting the pale winter sky.

He wore a neatly trimmed beard and was somberly dressed in russet and brown velvet.

He was as tall as the Governor, who stood several inches above most men.

The doctor was lean, and his calves, clad in remarkably clean hose of mustard yellow, were well muscled.

Several women threw him admiring glances, but he ignored them and urged the ladies to adjourn into the church, where the next spate of marriages would take place shortly.

The prospective grooms were already inside, waiting anxiously to face their future.

“He’s a handsome devil,” Betsy said softly as she came up behind Mary and Nell, who’d been allotted a few minutes by their husbands to socialize before returning to their wagons for the ride home.

“With an impressive codpiece,” Nell added, her eyebrows nearly disappearing beneath the rim of her cap.

“Roll up a stocking and stuff it into your man’s breeches,” Betsy advised. “He’ll be just as impressive.”

Nell giggled. “My Tom wasn’t blessed with razor-sharp intellect, but he doesn’t lack distinction in that area.”

“Lucky you,” Betsy replied. “My husband’s cod is more of a goldfish.” Betsy glanced toward Mary and smiled. “You must really love your John, Mary,” she said .

“Why do you say that?” Mary asked, stunned by Betsy’s observation.

Her gaze strayed to John, who was engaged in conversation with several men, one of them being the marshal.

Simon stood off to the side, his gaze fixed on Secretary Hunt.

He seemed to be studying the man as he welcomed the doctor to the colony and led him toward his new quarters.

The secretary was dressed in a suit of dark blue velvet, the fine fabric set off to perfection with a stiff white ruff and hose of cream silk.

He wasn’t a handsome man, but he exuded an air of competence and authority.

Simon saw her watching and looked away, fixing his glance on Travesty, who stood alone in the shade of a tree.

“You revere him. It must be true love,” Betsy said, giving Mary a knowing smile.

“Come, Betsy. Leave Mary be. I think her pretty blush is admission enough,” Nell said, saving Mary the need to reply. “John is a fine man, and a caring husband.”

Mary glanced away, amazed by how far off the mark her friends were.

It’d been several weeks, but she still couldn’t get the image of John and Simon out of her mind.

She’d endured John’s attentions several times since that night and thought she’d be sick with disgust. She didn’t blush because she was in love with her husband.

She blushed because she was consumed with shame.

“Come, it’s time we went home,” John said as he startled Mary out of her reverie. “You’ve had your amusement for the day. Good day to you, ladies.”

Mary followed John obediently as they walked past the group of newly arrived women.

Had she looked that bedraggled when she came off the ship?

Had she had the same light of hope in her eyes?

She was cleaner and better dressed now, certainly better fed, but the hope had ebbed away day by day, replaced by a bitterness she hadn’t realized she was capable of.